


Happily Ever After

by Molly



Category: Once a Thief (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Crack Fic, First Time, M/M, OAT, Once a Thief, Slash, Yuletide, vic/mac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-22
Updated: 2008-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-02 00:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molly/pseuds/Molly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> Later, in bed, one hand tucked behind his head and one hand lazily drifting up and down Vic's thigh, Mac said, "Maybe we shouldn't have given in to the Satanists."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Happily Ever After

_  
"You're together. Until I say otherwise...or you die."_

\-- the Director  


  
   


* * *

  
   


**_I. _**

Later, in bed, one hand tucked behind his head and one hand lazily drifting up and down Vic's thigh, Mac said, "Maybe we shouldn't have given in to the Satanists."

Waves rippled out from the center of Vic's shrug, hit the sideboards of the bed some five feet away, and rebounded back to their maker. "We were vastly outnumbered. And they did have guns," Vic reasoned.

"We had guns, too."

Vic shrugged again, uncomfortably.

"Stop that. I'm getting motion sick."

Vic turned over and rubbed his hand slowly over the skin below Mac's bellybutton.

Mac gasped. "Never -- ah! Nevermind..."

  
   


* * *

  
   


**_A.  
A charming cottage in the country._**

Mac didn't know what he'd done to deserve it, but he knew he was being punished. He worked for a shadowy government agency based out of Vancouver; they didn't send their agents to Mississippi on _assignment_, no matter what Vic wanted to believe. Nobody got sent to Mississippi on assignment. If they sent you to Mississippi, they sent you there for pain.

"I told you," he said to Vic, staring gloomily at the cabin. "When they didn't have a Starbucks in the airport, I _told_ you."

"I'll grant you that Starbucks is a sure sign of civilization," Vic said, "but it's not the only sign."

"Well, the one at LAX was apparently the last sign. Now it's just us and the cockroaches."

"I saw a satellite dish on the roof of that 7-11 back in Hot Coffee."

Mac turned to Vic and glared. Not so much at Vic, but at the flagrant injustice of it all. "Yeah, and what about that? What do you say about a town called Hot Coffee that doesn't have a fucking Starbucks? Anyway, that wasn't a 7-11. That was a no-name hicksville gas station with a candy rack and a refrigerator. The only sign anywhere near it said _Last Beer and Gas, 35 miles_."

Vic slapped Mac's shoulder. It was meant to be comforting, Mac supposed, but at this point he was beyond Vic's meager powers. His feet hurt from the five-mile dirt road that led to the cabin, and his ass hurt from the washboard bed of the fifty-year-old pickup truck that had dropped them off at the wrong end of it. The Greyhound bus before that, which Mac had hated with every single one of his vertebrae for a hundred and sixty miles, had taken on the distant, misty glow of a paradise lost.

"Come on," Vic said soothingly. "Let's go inside. I bet we have cable. We'll have some dinner, we'll chill out for a day or so, and then some crisis will descend upon the Pacific Rim. The Director will whip up some black helicopters and we'll be out of here, off to save the world again." He looked around nervously, some of the ease draining from his voice. "She's probably watching us right now."

"We're not that lucky," Mac said in a booming, theatrical voice. His eyes flashed over the surrounding trees, searching for hidden cameras.

Vic rolled his eyes. "It doesn't matter. We're not being punished, Mac. It's a vacation. I know it's a weird kind of vacation for you, involving things you don't understand -- trees, water, peace, tranquility -- but those of us who aren't tragically hip occasionally indulge in the rest cure known as _nature_."

"You take vacations. You don't get sent on them. You don't get sent to _Mississippi_ on vacation."

"Huh." Vic looked around. "Trees, lake, fresh air... What's not to love?"

"Vic."

Vic waved Mac off. He shut his eyes, tilted his head back, and breathed in deep. "Hush. I'm soaking in the peace of the forest."

"I have three words for you. No room service."

"So we'll go out."

"Two more. No restaurants."

A smile bloomed across Vic's face. "I'll cook!"

Mac's head dropped until his chin touched his chest. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, and groaned. "Punished," he muttered viciously.

If he couldn't be happy, at least he could be right.

  
   


* * *

  
   


**_II. _**

The second time they had sex, which fell about an hour after the first time they had sex, Mac ended up on his stomach with Vic draped over his back like a hot, sticky blanket. It was oddly comfortable in a way that made Mac's brain try to crawl out of his ear and slink off somewhere safe, where the rest of Mac couldn't bother it.

"Vic?"

"Mmprmph."

"You awake?"

Vic stirred; shifted; peeled himself off Mac's skin like a band aid. "Ow."

Mac winced. "Tell me about it."

"Hey, it was your turn."

"I'm not arguing, I'm just saying. In fact I'm _agreeing_ with you. Seriously, man, try to chill a little. Hey, remember the peace of the forest?"

Vic raised himself up from the heap of blankets he'd fallen into, just enough to glare balefully at Mac with a single bloodshot eye. The bruise forming over it made him look rakish and sexy, Mac thought. And then he thought, _please God let me never say that out loud._

"Chill?" Vic shook his head. "In this situation, you expect me to chill? Even if this had happened to us in an ice cave, in the frozen heart of Antarctica, no sane, rational person would have ever expected me to chill!"

"We need to think."

Vic snorted into his pillow, an eloquent if not flattering commentary on Mac's qualifications to lead the thinking process. Mac closed his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath.

"At the very least we have to prepare for the possibility that sooner or later, Li Ann's going to come rescue us. I, for one, want to be armed, fully clothed, and on the other side of the room from you when that happens."

"You know what I think we have to prepare for?"

Mac raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"The fact that the last time we have sex here is very probably going to be the last time we have sex before we're sacrificed to the flames of the hungry Goat God of a bunch of developmentally disabled, kinky hillbilly Satan-worshippers. Or weren't you listening to the sermon?"

Mac squirmed. "I never was very good at paying attention in church."

Vic turned on his side and looked at Mac. His eyes seemed different. Bigger.

Deeper.

Mac swallowed. His breath came faster.

"What I'm saying is--" Vic started.

"Well." Mac nodded, and reached out hungrily. "When you put it that way."

  
   


* * *

  
   


**_B.  
A quiet evening at home._**

The inside was one large room. Most of it was pink. A bright, lush, liquid pink that made Mac think of sugarplum fairies and latex.

"Are you noticing anything odd about this room?"

Vic raised his eyebrows. "Are you noticing anything that isn't?"

"I'm talking about the fact that there's only one bed in it."

Mac had noticed that, but was trying not to think about it. It was the same color as the rest of the room. There were lacy, heart-shaped pillows lounging flagrantly against the lacy, heart-shape covered pillowcases. Shams? Whatever. It was a water bed, which Mac could tell because it was large enough to have its own tides. In the center of the lacy, fluffy, inevitably pink comforter covering the monstrous thing, a fire-engine red envelope drifted in the current.

"I'll take the couch," Vic said primly.

"There is no couch."

"I'll take the floor."

"The bed has already got the floor. It's got all the floor in here, and some of the ground outside. Don't worry about it. We can share that bed without sharing a common border. In fact, a nap sounds pretty good right about now--"

"Right," Vic sniped. "I'm sure _that's_ what we were sent here to do."

"Oh, look who's tense now." Mac grinned. "Is it me? Is it something _I_ said?"

Vic shrugged out of his jacket, ignoring Mac completely.

Mac sighed. His eyes fell on the bed again. "Are we checking out that envelope? It could be about our assignment."

"Assignment? I thought we were being punished."

"We are. Probably we are." Mac frowned. "We might be."

"Then I'm taking a shower. Yell if it starts ticking."

  
   


* * *

  
   


**_III. _**

Arms splayed out like a crucifixion, sweating and gasping desperately for breath, Mac wheezed, "Do you have any idea where our clothes are?"

Vic licked another, long, lazy stripe up to the crown of Mac's cock. It hovered over Mac's belly, thick, red, and wet from Vic's mouth. When Vic paused, lips swollen and shiny, Mac shoved his hips up convulsively, clenched his fists in deep pink satin sheets, and groaned.

Eyes closed, Vic rubbed his cheek against the inside of Mac's thigh and smiled, slow and sharp. "What was the question?"

"Ohdearholymotherofgod," Mac hissed through viciously clenched teeth. "Shut _up_!"

  
   


* * *

  
   


**_C.  
Meeting the neighbors._**

Backs to the wall on either side of the door, Mac and Vic stood silently, guns drawn, gazes locked in swift, wordless communication. It was intimate, intense, almost beautiful, until Vic's left eye started twitching.

Mac frowned and tilted his head up.

Vic frowned back and shook his head.

Mac took a long, annoyed breath and hissed, "What!?"

"Maybe," Vic hissed back, "we should open the door."

"We don't know who it is."

"Not until after we open the door, no."

"I don't like this."

"I don't either, but if it's somebody with a car we could steal it and drive it to an airport and fly home."

Mac's eyes widened. "Oh." He grinned suddenly. "Hey, good plan! There may be hope for you yet, Victor."

"On three?"

Mac reached for the doorknob. "One." His hand closed smoothly around the brass knob, his eyes never leaving Vic's. From Vic's position, he'd have the first look at whoever was on the other side, so he had the lead. Vic also had strange gold flecks in his eyes that caught the afternoon light, like glitter, but Mac wasn't thinking about that. At all.

"Two," Mac whispered. He nodded at Vic and licked his lips.

Vic nodded back, tensing to spring.

"Thr--"

**BING bong BING! BING! BING BONG! BING!**

Mac tripped over his feet and fell over backwards down the wall, fleeing the wrath of the doorbell. Vic jumped like an electrified cat, but landed on his feet, back pressed hard against the door. Mac landed hard on his ass and broke out in an instant adrenaline sweat, cursing and fighting for breath.

"I'll never need a wakeup call again," Vic muttered.

"I'll never sleep again."

"I'll never close my eyes again," Vic said, glaring. "In fact--"

"Hello? Hellooo, is anybody at home? I'm Jenny, from next door! Hello?"

Mac let his head fall back against the wall, gun dangling between his knees. "Hi, Jenny," he said softly to Vic. "We're the lamest, most pathetic secret super agents on the planet. We'd invite you in, but we need to change our pants."

Vic grinned and offered Mac a hand up. "Guns," Mac said, and Vic put away his gun. Mac slid his into its holster, shrugged back into his jacket, and checked out his appearance on Vic's face. Vic wasn't actively sneering, so Mac probably looked okay.

"Ready?"

"We could still steal her car," Mac mused.

Vic took a second to peer out through the curtain by the door. "I think she might be Amish."

"Does she have a horse?"

"At this point, given our demonstrated total lack of prowess? I think she could take us."

"On three?" Mac said, grinning.

Vic rolled his eyes and pulled open the door.

  
   


* * *

  
   


**_IV. _**

After the fourth time, Vic passed out. For ten minutes, Mac lay tangled in slick satin sheets plastered to his body with all manner of bodily fluids. He panted up at the ceiling, noticing for the first time the pink-tinted, basketball-sized disco ball. He groaned -- quietly, so as not to wake Vic too soon -- and edged cautiously and carefully toward the edge of the bed.

When he'd gained the floor, he slunk around the room for a little while, gathering up their far-flung clothes. He thought about digging clean underwear out of his bags, but then he found himself beside the bed, looking down at Vic. The long slope of Vic's thighs, the sweat-slicked dip of Vic's spine. The easy, peaceful curve of Vic's smile.

On the floor by the nightstand, the crumbled remains of a plateful of cookies lay scattered and forgotten. Mac felt the grit under his feet and leaned down to pick up one of the pieces. He held it to his nose; frowned; touched it carefully with the barest tip of his tongue.

His eyes widened and cut instantly to Vic.

Vic, who -- Mac's scattered, lust-addled brain could now recall -- had in those first surreal, uncountable moments tasted of rich, dark chocolate chips--

And illegal mind control drugs.

  
   


* * *

  
   


**_D.  
The welcome wagon. _**

"Hi," she said, in a smoky voice custom-made for late-night radio. "I'm Jenny Lee."

She wore a white handkerchief on her head, and a long full red dress covered her from neck to toe and hid everything but her shoes and hands. It was covered in front by a white apron, and appeared to be made out of tarp. A basket covered with a red-and-white checked napkin hung over her arm.

She had sleek, waist-length blonde hair, bright blue eyes, porcelain skin, and a pair of gravity-defying D-cups. She was, granting a few years for a hard life in the hill country, possibly fifteen.

"Hungry?" she purred softly, stepping in close. She smelled like strawberry lip gloss and warm baked goods.

"Hello, little girl," Mac purred back, smiling hugely. "What's in the basket? Tell me it's chocolate, and tell me it's not for Grandma."

"Well, of course it's not!" Jenny laughed again, a high, light, sweet sound. "My mama sent cookies for a warm Mississippi welcome. We do hope you'll drop by for dinner some night, boys, but of course--" She blushed prettily, and glanced from Mac to Vic. "Of course, you'll probably want to spend most of your nights...alone."

"Excuse me?" Vic blinked. "Alone?"

"Aren't you boys wanton homosexual fornicators?" Jenny asked brightly.

  
   


* * *

  
   


**_V. _**

"Vic." Mac shook his shoulder roughly. "Vic, wake up."

"Wha--?"

"You need to wake up right now. I have to tell you something about the cookies."

Vic looped an arm up to catch Mac around the neck, but Mac was ready for it. He braced himself on the side of the bed and shouted, "_Vic!_"

"_What!_"

"I think they were drugged."

Vic flopped over onto his back and groaned. "That's what you woke me up for?"

Mac blinked. "You don't find that even mildly interesting?"

"Mac...look at us." Vic gestured illustratively down his incredibly naked body, and Mac had to back off another few inches just to catch his breath. "We're two previously sane -- sane on my part, anyway -- historically straight guys. We've been having wild, crazy, gay monkey sex for the past eight hours with no regard for any of the ten thousand normally unpleasant consequences of our actions, not to mention the twenty million abnormally unpleasant ones the Director's gonna inflict on us when she finds out about it. It's a level of insanity and stupidity never before reached by mankind without narcotic intervention."

"Oh," Mac said after a second.

Vic sat up and reached out -- way, way out, so far he nearly toppled over -- and patted Mac awkwardly on the shoulder. "Of course the cookies were drugged. Don't worry about it."

Mac nodded weakly.

Vic's eyes narrowed. "_What?_"

"Nothing!" Mac looked up and casually examined the ceiling. "It's just. Now I have to tell you something else about the cookies."

Vic raised his eyebrows and waited.

Mac smiled brightly. "I didn't actually eat any."

  
   


* * *

  
   


**_E.  
Fitting into the community. _**

Jenny smiled at Vic with red, wet lips in a way that made Mac want to throw a blanket over him. "Gay as Christmas, that's what they're saying in Buckville. Are you married? Did you know you can get married in Canada, if you want to? Or the Episcopalians will do it for you and you don't even have to leave the country!"

"What--" Vic noticed his voice was a little high, and tried again. "What are you talking about?"

She laid a gentle, welcoming hand on Vic's sleeve; immediately, Mac shouldered between them. She smiled anyway, even wider. "It's okay if you are. I know everybody thinks if you live in the country, you're uptight about that kind of thing, but if you get out in the country far enough, we're actually very open-minded." Wide-eyed, Jenny stared sweetly at Vic's throat.

"I thought you were Amish!" Vic squeaked.

"Oh!" Jenny laughed delightedly. "Oh, no, no. No, we're not _Amish_."

"Well, we're not homosexual fornicators!" Vic said loudly.

"Not at all. Together, that is. Not together. Otherwise," Mac said, trying to look tough and imposing and suave, all at the same time, "--otherwise, we're all about the fornicating."

"With women. Um, older women."

"Women older than eighteen," Mac clarified.

"Oh." Jenny wilted a bit. "Well."

"Sorry," Vic said.

"Just, if you were, you'd want to know that the Great Lord approves of such things." Slyly, she glanced up at Vic sideways through long black lashes. "If you were. Also, you'd be really cute together."

"The Great Lord?" Vic said.

Jenny's eyes brightened. "You don't know the Great Lord? Why, the Great Lord--"

"The Great Lord?" Vic prompted again.

Mac dug his elbow viciously into Vic's side.

"The Great Lord! Of course we know the Great Lord." Vic looked over at Mac, signaling frantically with his eyebrows for help.

"The Great Lord, yeah," Mac said. "We're tight." He crossed his fingers and waved them at Jenny cheerfully. "We're like _this_.

A glow came off Jenny's eyes that lit the living room, the surrounding clearing, the night sky, and possibly several unlabeled indicator lights on an out-of-the-way console at NASA. "Oh," she breathed in awe. "Oh, that's even better. That's the _best!_"

"Great," Mac said. "Glad to hear it. Can we have our cookies now?"

  
   


* * *

  
   


**_VI. _**

"So," Mac said awkwardly. "Now that we know what's going on, we should probably formulate some kind of plan."

Vic stared at Mac.

Mac stared back, his shirt in one hand, his nine mil in the other. He didn't think he was going to have to use it, but he hadn't reached the ripe old age of barely thirty by taking chances.

Vic swallowed. "I. That is." His eyes glazed a bit, and he sighed. "Okay."

"What?"

"It's just." Vic shook his head. Kneeling on the bed, damp and flushed, he looked horny and pissed off and unstable. Mac was finding it almost impossible not to ravish him.

"_What?_"

"You're still naked," Vic pointed out in a pinched, breathless voice.

Mac glared. "That's the cookies talking."

Vic licked his lips and dropped his eyes to Mac's crotch.

Mac sighed, and dropped his shirt and his gun. "Right," he said. "I don't care either."

  
   


* * *

  
   


**_F.  
Becoming a member of the church. _**

When Mac came out of the shower, Vic was already down. His chest was bare, his eyes were dazed, and something dark and crumbly was crusted over one corner of his mouth.

"Mac," he said, and tried to stand, but the pinch of Jenny's sharp, red-tipped fingernails on his earlobe stopped him there. She had a gun to Vic's head, which was a bit redundant, as the ten large men with rifles backing her up were a more than adequate argument against resistance. They wore tall black hats, long dirty beards, and overalls, every one.

Vic's face was now adorned with a darkening welt just over the temple; a thin line of blood oozed down from a cut at the center of it. "Vic," Mac said, keeping his voice steady and calm. "You okay?"

Vic shrugged, blushing a little. "They got me going outside to watch the sun set."

"Told you that whole nature thing was crap."

"Hello," Jenny said, "I'm evil, and I have a gun drawn on your domestic partner here. Don't I get to talk, too?"

"He's really more like my foreign partner," Mac said. "We're not from around here.

"Really," Jenny said, shaking her head in disbelief. "I never would have thought."

"I'm going to put my gun down now," Mac said carefully. "You just...try not to shoot Vic." He held up his hands, making sure his gun was pointing at the ceiling, and very carefully showed her that he was setting it down nice and easy with no intention to cause trouble. "Nice to see you again so soon, Jenny."

"Why, thank you, Mac, that's sweet." She smiled broadly, and gestured at the assembled hoe-down with her head. "Meet the family."

He waved awkwardly. "Hi."

"Mac, since you know the Great Lord soooo well, you probably know how all this is gonna go, so I'll make it short. There are fifty of us, all around this house, pointing shotguns at every door, window, chimney, and drainpipe. If anybody tries to get out, we're gonna shoot him. We'll be out there while the two of you consummate your secret lust for each other as often as you're capable, and at midnight, we're gonna light this place up with so much dynamite they'll see the explosion from space. All for the dark pleasure of our Hungry Lord of Goats, of course." She smiled sweetly. "Any questions?"

Mac's eyes, which had nearly fallen from his head several times, were wide as saucers. "I don't even know where to start."

"Start with him," Jenny said, and shoved Vic forward into Mac's arms.

Mac caught him, barely, and hauled him up against his chest. "Vic. Vic! Are you okay?"

Vic -- whose eyes had started to glaze a little at "secret lust" and whose knees had buckled somewhere around "hungry goat god" -- said, "The Director's gonna love this," and shoved his tongue into Mac's mouth.

Some time later, amid smirks Mac never saw and giggles he barely heard, the front door snicked quietly shut and locked from the outside.

  
   


* * *

  
   


**_VII. _**

After the seventh time they had sex, Mac realized their only hope of escape lay with him. His lust was no less insatiable than Vic's, but Vic's seemed accompanied by an utter inability to access higher brain functions. Mac's vastly stronger instinct for self-preservation allowed him to do two or more things at once, even if one of those things was sucking off Victor Mansfield.

Anyway, he was getting kind of sore.

Mere seconds after making Vic whimper like a baby kitten and shoot triumphantly down Mac's throat, Mac leapt up, rolled like an acrobat, and landed perched on the balls of his feet by the bed. He'd picked up his gun on the way, and now held it and one warning hand out in front of him.

"Vic," he said calmly, "stay right where you are."

Vic said, "No," and took a lurching, wobbly knee-step toward Mac on the waterbed.

Mac shot five holes in the waterbed in a wide semi-circle around Vic's body, and waited.

Nothing happened.

"Self-sealing," Vic said helpfully. "So nobody drowns in the night."

Mac sighed.

"No, no, it's okay. I get your point, I'll stay over here. Geez."

"_Thank_ you," Mac said, knees weak with relief. He grabbed a pair of pants and a shirt, hoping they were Vic's, and threw them at the bed. "Put those on."

Unsteadily, Vic climbed off the bed and dressed. His eyes still lingered on Mac's chest. "Okay," Vic said calmly. "Now, you give _me_ the gun and _you_ get dressed." He licked his lips.

"Ohhhh, no. I'm staying right over here, safe and armed and naked."

"What, until they set us on fire?"

Mac frowned. "No."

"Then you have a plan?"

"Well." He frowned harder. "Not yet."

"Then why don't I--"

"Uh-uh," Mac said, waving his gun with what he hoped looked like serious intent. "Stay."

Vic sighed.

"No, wait!" Searching the room, Mac's eyes fell on the one thing that was an actual honest-to-god color that wasn't pink. "Get the red envelope off the dresser."

Vic got it. He glared, and huffed, and walked with a slow, indignant stride, but he got it.

"You know, you could participate a little in our escape," Mac said, starting to feel put upon. "I know somebody has to be the naked gun-waving bad-guy, and I'm okay with that role, but you could help out a little here and there. It wouldn't kill you."

"Probably not," Vic said snidely. "I've got a horde of Amish Satanists for that."

Mac snatched the envelope out of his hands and glared. He ripped it open, read the card inside (which had red, red roses and red, red cupids with red, red bows and arrows on the front) and blinked.

"What?"

Mac said, "Nothing." His eyes scanned the room and landed on a small silver item hanging from the wall beside the bed. "It can't be that easy."

"_What_ can't be that easy?" Vic demanded. "What does it say?"

Mac pointed numbly with his gun. "_Ring bell for service_."

  
   


* * *

  
   


**_G.  
Getting along in a multi-cultural neighborhood. _**

Vic stared at the bell.

Mac stared at the bell.

Vic said, "You're right. It really can't be that easy."

"It's five minutes till midnight," Mac pointed out nervously. "What've we got to lose?" Biting his lip, Mac set down his gun and went to the bell and rang it.

Nothing happened.

"See?" Vic said. "Noth--"

On the other side of the pink chintz covered windows, the night exploded into violence.

Gunfire.

Explosions.

Screams, like innocent souls trapped behind the gates of Hell.

Less than thirty seconds later, the night was still and silent again.

Cautiously, tentatively, a single cricket rubbed its legs together. It was joined by another and another and another, while Vic and Mac stared at each other, and the world continued to stubbornly fail to end.

"You think they're waiting to kill us exactly at midnight?" Vic said softly.

"No, gentlemen," the Director said, striding calmly through the bathroom door. Her flame-red hair was set off by her electric-blue leather dress and heels, which blissfully clashed with everything within sight. "We're waiting for Mr. Ramsey to get dressed."

  
   


* * *

  
   


**_VIII. _**

After the eighth time they had sex, Mac rested his head comfortably on Vic's shoulder while Vic thumbed through channels on Mac's TV.

"You really do have seven hundred channels," Vic said wonderingly. "This is the coolest thing I've ever seen."

Mac rolled his eyes. "Welcome to the twenty-first century."

"Hey, I never even had cable growing up. Give me a break, I didn't know what I was missing."

"Play your cards right, and later I'll take you out to a moving picture show."

Vic slapped Mac on the shoulder, readjusted his head for the good of his circulation, and flipped to another channel. "Hey, church."

Mac turned green. With a single motion he reached over, swiped the remote, turned off the TV, and flung the remote into a far corner. Then he grabbed Vic's wrists and pinned them down against the mattress. It was a great mattress, firm and not at all sloshy. It was even better with Vic spread out across it, which was good, because Mac wasn't letting him out of it for more than meals and trips to the bathroom for at least three weeks.

"You did that on purpose," Mac accused.

Vic twisted, sliding a knee up between Mac's and grinning. "Yeah."

Mac grinned back. He leaned down and licked contentedly at Vic's lips, which opened immediately and let him slide in, sweet and wet and slow. When he pulled back, he dropped his forehead down to rest against Vic's and said, "I never thought I'd say this to another man, Vic, but I'm really, really glad you ate the poisoned sex cookies."

Vic pulled back, just a little. "Yeah."

"Hey, what's wrong?" Mac frowned, and ran a finger down Vic's cheek. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Vic said. "Really. It's just, now that it's all over, and we're back, and the Director didn't have us killed like I was almost certain she would when she found out about us..."

"_What?_"

Vic smiled weakly. "There's something I need to tell _you_ about the cookies."

  
   


* * *

  
   


  
_"There's always a third door."_

\-- the Director  


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Happily Ever After [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/313210) by [tinypinkmouse_podfic (tinypinkmouse)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypinkmouse/pseuds/tinypinkmouse_podfic)




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